


Compatibility

by aftersoon (notboldly)



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Drifting, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notboldly/pseuds/aftersoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil had thought the only thing he'd had to fear was sending Clint out to fight monsters. He was wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compatibility

**Author's Note:**

> Steve/Tony is the more background of the two pairings, but it's still very much present. This fic was originally posted on 7-16 on avengerkink, for the following prompt:
> 
> http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/16524.html?thread=37419148#t37419148
> 
> If you've seen it before, that's why. :)

The thing about Drifting was that it didn't tolerate screw-ups, and since Clint pretty much _was_ a screw-up, there was a natural contradiction in terms. He knew why they had waved him thru, of course; Barnes had burned out at least a dozen applicants for his co-pilot, and by the time Clint had made it far enough to even qualify, he was basically entering the no-fly zone. Do not enter here. Do not pass go.

Phil told him he was worrying too much, which was funny, coming on the tail of the first sighting of a Category II Kaiju.

"The worst thing that can happen is you're not chosen," Phil pointed out helpfully, and Clint snorted.

"No, the worst thing that can happen is _no one_ is chosen, and the L.A. coast is wide open to attack anytime Archon Strike is out of port." Clint shook his head and stared at his hands, at the glint of his wedding ring. "Call me crazy for not wanting to leave _you_ —well, all of you—unprotected."

Phil got that soft look on his face, the same look he got anytime Clint mentioned that him not being on the frontlines didn't necessarily mean he was outside the war.

"Clint, I'm in the control tower. It's as safe as you can get without being underground." He rested a hand warm on Clint's back, patting the muscles there, and didn't continue. They'd had this conversation before, after all.

"Still," Clint said, and let it drop. Phil was only trying to make him feel better, after all.

Still. Clint couldn't ignore that they'd tried matching Barnes with experienced pilots and rookies alike, and no one had ever stuck. Since they couldn’t very well get rid of a pilot so weirdly in-tune with his Jaeger that it was practically an extension of himself, it was match Barnes or nothing.

Clint spent his morning watching two more pilot applicants fail, and he spent his afternoon preparing for his try. The suit fit well, like it was something he'd always been meant to wear, and he met Barnes on the deck right on time, extending his hand instinctively. First impressions, he knew, were as good of a measure for Drifting candidates as anything.

"Clint Barton. Nice to meet you."

Barnes smiled and accepted the handshake, but didn't provide an introduction of his own.

"You always use full names with every one night stand?" He shook his head before Clint could reply. "Well, let's get it over with."

They stepped off the landing and into the Conn-Pod, and it was like stepping into a bullet, surrounded on all sides by rounded walls, closed off from the world. When the doors closed behind them, Barnes took one look at him and snickered.

"You'll get used to it. Or you won't. Ask Bruce about his claustrophobia sometime."

Clint nodded, resolving to do no such thing, and he was silent as he slid his feet into the boots, locked into the pedals. He felt like he weighed thousands of pounds, but that, he knew, was a response to being unable to move while connected to all the machinery of a detached Conn-Pod. He wondered how he'd feel when connected to the rest of the Jaeger, and he tried not to get his hopes up as the neural link was initiated.

It felt like his head was going to explode, like he was watching a movie at a hundred speed and trying to make sense of it. Some of the images contained people he recognized, but they weren't his, like he was viewing a life through a hidden camera, viewing _Barnes's_ life. He knew he wasn't supposed to show interest in the memories, but every time he seemed to remember that, a new wave hit him, a new attack of images.

It was, frankly, pissing him off. After going through the routine a few times, he finally lost his temper.

 _Knock that shit off_ , Clint thought, and the images immediately stopped.

Barnes was laughing at him, although not in a way that was any way audible. But Clint felt it; swore he could feel the expansion and retraction of Barnes's— _Bucky's_ —lungs like they were his own. He barely kept himself from panicking.

Phil's voice came over the comms, sounding calm, but Clint—Clint and Bucky both, he realized—knew he was surprised.

"Neural Handshake holding at ninety percent." There was a soft crackle, a sigh into his headset. "We have a match."

****

Phil had been working in the LOCCENT Mission Control of the Los Angeles Shatterdome since the beginning of it all, and he'd seen dozens of Jaegers come and go, each Jaeger coming with dozens of pilots. Mostly siblings, occasionally spouses, occasionally other; Phil used to be surprised by the matches found and formed, but since he'd never been directly involved with the personnel element before, he'd paid no mind to the fact that some pairs of pilots inevitably failed before they ever saw battle. When the connection was broken by outside and entirely human conflicts, it was because they just weren't suited to the responsibilities that came with making a link with either man or machine, and Phil knew that was the end of it. Incompatibility.

He had, of course, heard the rumors of Drift Widows, of compatibility so good that it phased out everything else, including loved ones, but as far as he was concerned, those were only rumors. Entirely unfounded, or so he'd thought.

Phil had to admit that seeing Clint coming out of the Conn-Pod with his arm around Barnes's shoulders like they were longtime friends was a little unnerving, the sort of thing that put a twist in his guts. He told himself he was overreacting, and he went to meet them, because pilot matches were best declared in person.

By the time he reached the ground floor, he could hear Clint laughing like he only ever did when in private. With Phil.

Phil picked up his pace.

"No, no, wait—what about that one, with the flag pole? Don't tell me that was you in the dress!"

"They're my memories, stupid. How could I see myself in my own memories?"

Clint laughed again at Barnes's annoyed response, but the sound cut short when he saw Phil. Phil wasn't sure what expression he had on his face, but he quickly wiped it away.

"Mr. Barton, Mr. Barnes." He nodded at them both. "You two are a confirmed match for the Jaeger Alate Oblivion, unless you have any objections."

They both shook their heads, perfectly in sync. Phil's stomach twisted harder.

"No objections, Coulson," Barnes said, still smiling. "If it's all the same to you, though, I want to tell Natasha and Steve before you make the announcement. They're going to flip."

Phil nodded, and he watched Clint's arm slide off Barnes's shoulder in what felt like slow motion. Then Barnes patted Clint on the arm, smiled again, and left, off to tell his best friends about his success in Drifting with Clint.

"Hey, Phil? You okay?"

Phil clenched his jaw and nodded shortly.

"Of course I'm fine. I'm just a little…surprised."

Clint shrugged.

"Yeah, well, Bucky isn't actually too bad once you get past the fact that his mind tries to kick you out. I think that was the problem with all the other matches, honestly: not stubborn enough." Clint smiled like he'd just told the funniest joke in the world, and Phil conceded that he may have had a point. Or he would have conceded that, if he hadn't gotten so caught up in one word.

"Bucky?"

"Yeah. It seems a little silly to use last names after mind-linking, huh?" Phil didn't even nod that time, and Clint sent him a worried glance. "Well…I have to go to medical, right? To get checked out. So, I'll…see you at home?"

Phil bit the inside of his cheek when he nodded again, because there were a lot of things he wanted to ask, and he couldn't find the worlds to say them. Wasn't sure it was a good idea anyway.

Phil had thought the only thing he had to fear if Clint was chosen was sending him out to fight monsters, but apparently, he had forgotten one key component in every Jaeger assignment: compatibility, so strong it was rare, was needed before the first step in battle could ever be taken.

****

Clint had never claimed to know Phil's mind even before such a thing was possible, but in the weeks immediately following his assignment to Alate Oblivion and his test run with Bucky, it was like he didn't know the man _at all_. Phil had never been especially emotive or talkative in his personal life, but he'd usually made an exception for Clint. Some of the sweet things he'd said months ago still made Clint blush, but now, these days? It was like talking to a statue. A statue that didn't give a damn about him.

Except in sleep, Phil _clung_ , and the entire thing left Clint so confused that the next time he tried to Drift with Bucky (not during an attack, thank God, and Phil wasn't overseeing it this time, double thank God), he couldn't maintain the link.

After the third try, Bucky pulled his helmet off in frustration, glaring at Clint with what he knew meant not just frustration, but the murderous kind.

"What the _fuck_ is your problem, Clint? I'm not your goddamned babysitter, so commit to the Drift! You did it perfectly the first time!"

"Sorry," Clint said glumly, which didn't seem like the sort of thing that would work with Bucky. It did anyway, probably because Bucky had Drifted with Clint long enough before to know he actually meant apologies.

"Jesus Christ," Bucky mumbled, setting his helmet aside and running a hand through his dark hair. "We'll never be ready for an attack at this rate. Is that what you want? I've met cowards before, but—"

"Of course it's not!" Clint interrupted, voice sharp enough to cut, and Bucky grinned at him, triumphant. Clint sighed, realizing he'd fallen right into the obvious trap. "You're obnoxious."

"You love it." He rapped Clint sharply on his helmet. "Come on. We're going to lunch, and we'll try again after. Bruce, did you get all that?" He shouted in the general direction of Banner's station, and there was an electronic whine from the Conn-Pod, acknowledgement from the operation techs. Clint shook his head; for whatever reason, the techs and operators absolutely loved Bucky. 

Well, except for Phil, but Phil didn't seem like he loved anyone at the moment. The thought depressed him, again, and that day's portion of barely-edible rations didn't help matters much. Clint pushed the plate of cold potatoes and gravy aside, not even remotely hungry. Bucky seemed more than willing to accept the extra share, and he dug in with undisguised and baffling enthusiasm. Then again, he'd been floating in the Jaeger circuit for years; he was probably used to the sludge they called food by now.

"Well?" Bucky asked, between bites. "Spill already. Since you won't let me in your head, we have to do this the old-fashioned way."

Clint sighed. "It's not important. Really, it's just…personal stuff."

Bucky wiggled his spoon at him, telling him to go on, and hurry up with it.

"Just—are you dating anyone? Or were you?"

Bucky dropped the spoon with a clatter.

"Oh no, not _those_ personal problems." Bucky picked the spoon back up and gestured with it like it was a knife. Clint was alarmingly glad it wasn't. "Listen. You've met Steve."

"Steve Rogers, one of Archon Strike's pilots?" Clint shook his head. "No, I never have."

"Well, he and I go way back. Best friends, since…infancy, or there about. Grew up together." He shrugged at Clint's look, probably aware of the rumors. "We're so incompatible that we not only couldn't Drift, but we nearly both had seizures trying to force it. Not a pretty picture." Bucky ate another bite of potatoes, looking contemplative. "Whatever your lady's or dude's or—"

"Husband's," Clint supplied, wiggling his ring finger pointedly.

"—husband's issue is, this comes up from time to time. Drifting doesn't mean anything about personal relationships. Nothing at all. It just means…well, in this case, that we're both stubborn assholes."

"I don't even know if that's his problem. He won't talk to me." Hell, for all Clint knew, Phil was just scared that he was an assigned pilot, and that an attack could be on the horizon literally any day now.

"Then go talk to Steve. Heaven knows he and Stark worked it out somehow." 

Clint nodded and agreed to do just that if necessary, sealing the promise by stealing a bite of potatoes.

****

It was only by chance that Phil heard about Clint and Barnes having lunch together, and it was only by chance that he listened to the full range of the gossip. Honest.

"It was so cute," one of the techs, a woman named Ellen, offered with a squeal. "Barton gave him his food! I was sitting right there."

"For Pete's sake, don't you have anything else to talk about?" Sandra rolled her eyes, looking like she'd rather be anywhere other than behind a headset. "So they're having an affair, so what? Not the first time it's happened."

"Oh, I thought they were single! Well, that's too bad."

Phil flinched. It had, after all, been Clint's idea to keep their marriage under wraps. He hadn't wanted Phil's position compromised, he'd said, in case he ever did end up in a Jaeger. Phil had agreed.

What a laugh that was now.

"Use your own time for gossip," Phil interrupted, cutting their conversation neatly to pieces. "Archon Strike's left arm isn't reading fully. Banner, are you getting anything?"

The answer came in, a crackle over the speakers.

"No, it's no good. There's definitely been a shortage, possibly in the generator? I'll take a look."

Phil waited patiently, fiddling just barely with the buttons on his pockets. He was, after all, a professional, and he was at work. That should be all that mattered at the moment.

His finger barely touched the ring he kept in his pocket, and he jerked away.

"Coulson. Come in, Coulson."

"Go ahead Banner."

"It's not the generator; I think it's the Conn-Pod gear. Better get Tony to take a look."

Phil barely refrained from sighing. Tony, although the best in the field of Jaeger design, was definitely not his first choice for anything.

"I'll ask him." 

He was prepared for pure chaos when he went down to the labs, and that was mostly what he got, with Tony popping in and out of the remains of Phantom Recoil, the last produced Mark-2, destroyed in Mexico. Pieces of it were strewn everywhere, and the sight of so much destruction was enough to almost give Phil a stroke.

"Coulson! I'll be with you in a moment." Tony's head popped up and back down, and Phil waited, mostly patient. Tony finally emerged covered in grease, wearing a smile, and looking downright pleased to see him.

Phil almost felt bad for avoiding the work areas, but he immediately decided not to with Tony's first words.

"I heard the good news. Your man is matched up, isn't that right? How are you taking it?"

Phil answered the same way he would have if anyone had asked, and deliberately ignored that somehow Tony knew he was married and to whom.

"It's good news; we might have had to retire Alate Oblivion, otherwise." And Barnes might have left weeks ago. "I'm here about Archon Strike—"

Tony ignored the obvious change in subject.

"Yeah, but how are _you_ taking it? Knowing Barton is so compatible with Barnes, and all."

Phil didn't so much as glance towards his pocket.

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are." Tony held out his hand, and it took Phil a moment to realize he wanted Banner's report, which he immediately handed to him. Tony perused it for a moment, and Phil thought that was the end of the discussion. Hoped it was, at least.

He wanted to bang his head against something when Tony continued in a light voice, completely undaunted.

"If you weren't, though, just know that it's hardly a feeling unique to you. I mean, do you remember when Steve became Natasha's co-pilot? I was down here for weeks." Phil knew that, of course; Stark had churned out the electronics for the first American-produced Mark-4 in a matter of days. "Of course, Natasha is beautiful in addition to compatible, so that's only to be expected. At least Barnes looks like somebody's foot."

Phil knew Tony was only trying to make him feel better, but it didn't help, because he was wrong. Barnes was just as good-looking as Steve was, and he didn't have the same moral boundaries, needless to say. And he'd been alone for a long time, at least in the years since his last co-pilot had died from a faulty evacuation pod.

Phil sighed, and gave in to the inevitable.

"How did you handle it?"

Tony rolled his eyes and gave him a fond look.

"Coulson, I'm _still_ handling it." Tony flipped the page, jotted down a note, and then looked up again. "It helps to know what to expect, though. A breakdown in communication, for one, once Barton gets used to sharing thoughts with someone."

Phil nodded. He could handle that.

"Anything else?"

"Expect Barton to really like Barnes, because it happens. Also, expect a lot of rumors. And I do mean a _lot_." Tony thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Other than that, play it cool."

Phil almost laughed. _Play it cool_. For the last few weeks, he'd been doing the exact opposite.

"Duly noted." He wanted to say 'thanks.' He wanted to say a lot of things, but he didn't; clearly, Clint wasn't the only one with communication problems. "Stark, I want that arm fixed by tonight, if possible."

"You and me both, Coulson."

****

That night saw a Category II Kaiju hit the east coast of the U.S., costing the PPDC Scarlett Zephyr, its first Mark-4, and nearly three-quarters of the Florida coast before it was stopped by one of the British Jaegers fresh off the construction line. Clint knew, because he watched the footage, alone, from the safety of his apartment on the other side of the country. It was a rough night all around, because the attack also meant that Phil didn't get to come home, not if it meant losing hours from overseeing repairs on Archon Strike in preparation for another hit.

They'd gotten lax over the past few months, and it was with that thought in mind that Clint forced himself to sleep. He woke up feeling like shit, having dreamed of a Kaiju strike while he was still barely able to hold a link and while Archon Strike was out of commission for repairs. The worst part was that he hadn't woken up, not until the nightmare had run its course and plundered his happy memories, and when he finally opened his eyes, the other side of the bed was empty. He was terrified, thinking that he'd truly missed everything, that Phil was truly gone, before he remembered.

He got dressed in record time, and went to the Shatterdome with more purpose in his stride than he'd ever felt before. He found Bucky in the break room, flirting with a dazzling redhead who looked almost familiar, and Clint pulled him aside with only a tossed apology.

"Sorry. We're training." Bucky raised his eyebrows at the urgency in his voice. "Now."

Bucky didn't argue, and this time when they tried to Drift, it happened seamlessly. Clint saw only the barest images—and shit, shit, that had been _Natasha Romanoff_ , hadn't it—and this time, the Neural Handshake held at ninety-one percent.

 _Good job_. Clint wasn't sure if it was Bucky or himself who'd had the thought, but it was rewarding all the same. After yesterday's failed attempts and then their shaky connection at the end of the day, he was ready for some _good_ news.

He felt a punch of surprise, however, when he heard the scream of a siren, loud in his head, and his comm sang to life with a voice he'd scarcely heard in days.

"Excellently done, Barton, Barnes." Phil's voice didn't reflect how tired he must have felt after his all-night work, but Clint heard it all the same. He missed him. "Are you ready to take it for a test run? A Category II, codename Hornskull, just appeared off the coast of Oregon. Archon Strike is preparing to deploy."

Clint didn't have to be in Bucky's head to know he was thinking the exact same thing.

"Ready when you are, Coulson."

The Conn-Pod moved immediately, and Clint got a rush of images, of taking first steps through water, of how much strain it put on the muscles, of where the escape pods were and how long exactly it took to rig a Jaeger for self-destruct. They were all from Bucky, and he appreciated it.

Nothing braced him for the sensation of falling through the sky, or of landing, but it made it easier when it felt like his legs already knew the motions. Fighting—and fighting alongside Archon Strike—was just as easy, like instinct, and he knew ninety percent of that was Bucky. However, ninety percent of the moves were Clint's, dirty boxing and wrestling that were perfect for when Hornskull came barreling at them in a charge like a giant, grotesque Rhino.

Clint wasn't surprised when Archon Strike grabbed the Kaiju's tail, because Bucky knew Steve would do that. Natasha couldn't have been surprised when Alate Oblivion responded with a strong uppercut, pump driven, to the Kaiju's jaw, because Steve knew that Bucky would try it. It was strange to know someone knew exactly what you planned, but then, Clint realized, that was the beauty of both a Drift connection and of friendship: people _knew you_. The Drift connection was just a little faster.

It was Archon Strike's fourth take down, and Alate Oblivion's second. Clint couldn't help but feel like it was a personal victory as well, instead of just a victory for mankind.

****

Phil was familiar with the celebration that always came just after a successful Kaiju attack, but he'd never participated in it before. He'd felt fear, yes, whenever they happened, but it had never been this bone deep, this chilling, this real. Hearing the words "all clear, targets dropped" from Clint's mouth was like Christmas, and Phil knew he sagged noticeably in his chair when he said "come home, you four." He was pretty sure his relief was noticeable to everyone, and he was ready for the rumors that would come with _that_.

Before the Jaegers were back in port, Phil went down to the Conn-Pod docks to meet them. It was a long wait, transporting the vast machines by helicopter, but at least he had company; Tony looked in a similar state of anxious excitement while he tried not to be noticeably _waiting_ , and Phil couldn't help but be amused.

He held his breath as the first Conn-Pod, Archon Strike, was put back into place, and Phil put on his professional façade carefully. He shook Rogers's hand and nodded at Romanoff, and listened to Stark complain half-heartedly about the damage done to the Jaeger all while keeping his hand noticeably on Rogers's shoulder and looking desperately glad to see him.

It was sweet, and on impulse, Phil slipped on his wedding ring just as Alate Oblivion's Conn-Pod began docking. Phil held his breath, waiting, and when Clint and Barnes came out again, this time arm in arm, he told himself not to be jealous.

This time it almost worked, and that, he figured, was a start. Enough of a start that when they reached Phil, he was able to smile at both of them.

"Good work, you two."

Barnes accepted the comment with his usual brand of faux modesty, and then he shared one very pointed looked with Clint and left. Wordless communication: Phil supposed he could get used to that as well. He'd have to.

Clint looked at him, gaze cautious and questioning, and Phil kept smiling.

"Clint." Clint bit his lip, and Phil missed him so much it hurt. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Phil. I get it." Clint took a deep breath. "I love you. You know that, right?"

Phil nodded, and he knew that had to be enough. It was enough.

"Yes. I know."

They embraced for what felt like the first time, and Phil didn't even mind the stares.

****

End


End file.
